


Bond. James Bond in Harry Potter and the Sheerest and Dumbest of Lucks ~or~ Alec Fucking Trevelyan Will Not Be Denied

by Dart



Series: Sentient Skyfall [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25507960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dart/pseuds/Dart
Summary: Wherein the author swears she didn't hit post yet. But HERE WE ARE.Wherein Q isn’t a petty little shit. He is thepettiest.Harry is a curious kitten.Alec Fucking Trevelyan will not be denied.And James Bond knows a thing or two about being a weapon, but he knows fuck all about kids.orJames Bond finds himself entangled with a slight young thing with dark unruly hair and green eyes who refuses to be properly intimidated by him. The real question is what won’t Bond do in the name of Queen and Country?orQ has forgotten something. James was just following orders.
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Series: Sentient Skyfall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848847
Comments: 43
Kudos: 86





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I know we are all really here for Sentient Skyfall, but you're going to have to wait until at least Chapter 5 of this story. Good news! You can read or reread the first fic in this series. It's All Sentient Skyfall All the Time.
> 
> Bond, James Bond doesn't show up until even later because of course the bastard doesn't.
> 
> This is a work in progress, so...I'm going to have to update the tags as I go. But like, it's _James Bond_ and there's _Voldemort, so there's impending darkity dark dark._
> 
> This diverges from Harry Potter at some point during the mayhem in the Department of Mysteries. Sirius still died, but Voldemort did not make an appearance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black has died in the Department of Mysteries and with him, Harry’s plan for surviving the summer.

It was late June and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was noisy with restless children wanting to get away, most wanting to go home. But not one boy. He would never leave, if only he could.

Harry Potter knew with terrifying certainty that with his godfather, Sirius dead, his uncle Vernon would kill him or worse. Much worse. There was no returning to Privet Drive without the threat of his escaped mass murderer godfather. Dying elsewhere was preferable to dying there. And so he scrambled. There was also the guilt, so much guilt (it was like guilt factorial really, it really stacked up), and determination that no one else would die (for/because of/protecting him). But mostly it was the not suffering the worse than death, if he was being honest. Which the scars on his hand said he _must_. That fucking _bitch_. 

And while he didn’t understand exactly what it was that his uncle Vernon was threatening, something inside him was screaming at him to run away. And he was listening. Which said something considering that he was a boy who had run _toward_ Voldemort on more than one occasion.

He could do this. He could pull his arse out of the fire. He was used to this…things falling apart, the threat of…unpleasantness, sure the levels were different, but he could function under pressure. Could do his best work. First, he had to get away, stay away for the summer. Right. Get away…run, bolt from the castle? Someone would see him. He could only run so far.

The Hogwarts Express? Jump off mid-route? Serious injury and still wind up at the Dursleys. Wasn’t there something to keep the students on the train? So Malfoy couldn’t throw someone off, rather have his goons do it. There should be. But magical people were….incomprhensively stupid. Incomprehendingly? _Really fucking stupid._ Still, best not to take the risk. Jump off the roof and wind up stuck to the side of the carriage the entire ride to Kings Cross.

Other transportation? Broom? He could fly, except…well, no, he _could_ fly. He could get farther. He could use the invisibility cloak to sneak away unnoticed. Ok, he would escape by broom. Wearing the invisibility cloak. _Cloak?_ And then he was thinking about cloaks. Cedric at the yule ball. Why was the invisibility cloak called a cloak when he threw it like a blanket over his, Hermione and Ron’s heads? _Huh._ So, he pulled it out of his trunk and went and tried it on in the bathroom. He fastened it up like a proper cloak and lo and behold _all_ of him, even his uncovered head disappeared. _Son of a bitch._

He took stock. He had been lowkey hoarding food toward the end of the school year, like he always had since his very first year. Except this year he had ordered a moleskin pouch with expandable and preservation charms on it. It wasn’t a lot of food. He’d only pilfered food out of habit. He hadn’t been concerned Sirius would starve him, of course. Not intentionally. But Sirius had had a lot on his mind. Feeding Harry might have just slipped his mind sometimes. Harry had just always hoarded any food that was available because food was never available. It wasn't because he didn't trust Sirius. It _wasn't_.

His wandless magic was basic, but improving. He had been working on the wandless Alohomora and Colloportus for ages, long before he knew what wandless magic was. Subconsciously even before he found out he was a wizard. All of it was in the hopes he would be able to unlock and relock locks—the cupboard, the refrigerator, his bedroom door. And other spells to hide his textbooks from Vernon, hide food, hide _himself_. But now, it would be to unlock other people’s doors for shelter, if he was being honest. Which he _was_. 

He had a ways to go. He had a long way to go. But it was something.


	2. Luna Lovegood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luna being Luna.

The night before the Hogwarts Express took the students away for the summer, Harry was wandering the castle because of course he was. He always took this night to say goodbye to his favorite parts of the castle.

He ran across Luna Lovegood near his third favorite statue. She gave him that other worldly smile.

“Here, Harry,” she said, holding an unusual looking golden bracelet up so he could see it first. She was always gentle with him.

“Thanks, Luna. Er, what is it?”

“It’s for you. Do you accept this bracelet, Harry?”

“Um, ok?”

“Harry, do you accept this bracelet? This gift?”

“Yeah sure, Luna.”

She held it up as if to place it around his wrist. “You accept this bracelet, Harry?”

 _Okaaay,_ Luna was quirky, sure, but why did she keep asking? He’d already answered her, hadn’t he? “Yes, Luna, I accept this bracelet from you. Er, thank you very much for this bracelet. You are giving. To me. That I accept. With thanks.”

Luna smiled, extra dreamily. “Silly, it only calls for three times.”

Just as she was releasing it, to let it lay against his skin, she said, “Mind, it’ll just be a little hungry this one time.”

And before Harry’s eyebrows could finish furrowing in confusion, he yelped, “It bit me!” He went to pull at it, she stayed his hand. “It bit me, Luna!” he said with that pleading look.

“It just had to taste you. It knows now. Just the one time, like I told you.”

“Er…???”

Then she looked at him, her expression serious. “You’re leaving Hogwarts tomorrow?”

“Of course, Luna. We’re all taking the train to Kings Cross. You know that.”

She frowned at him. “When you leave Hogwarts tomorrow, this will guide you.”

“To the _Hogwarts Express?”_

“Listen to me, Harry Potter. When you leave Hogwarts tomorrow, this will guide you where you need to be. Follow it.”

“Follow it?” he repeated as if under a spell, but that was just being within touching distance of Luna really.

“Follow it, Harry Potter. Until you will feel surrounded by strength. And a certain safety.”

He snorted. “Have I ever been safe?!”

Luna said, “It shouldn’t need to bite you again, but I can ask it to.”


	3. Hedwig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry says goodbye to Hedwig.

Harry went up to the Owlery to say goodbye to his snowy owl, Hedwig, and boy, was she pissed off because she already knew because of course she did. He had a pocketful of bacon—never an easy accomplishment with his friend, Ron around—in the hopes she wouldn’t completely clip his ear off his head. Harry ran his fingers through her soft feathers, put his forehead to hers.

“I’m sorry girl. You know I hate to leave you here, but you’ll be safe and fed here.”

She took a couple of nips out of his ear so he would know _exactly_ what she thought of that, but she didn’t draw blood so he knew she still loved him.

“I’m going away Hedwig, but I don’t know where. And it won’t be safe for you. So I want you to stay here at Hogwarts.”

She gave him _a look._

“And also, you could be tracked.”

He could practically hear her. _Oh my idiot human._

Harry backpeddled. “You are very beautiful. Someone might follow you. On a broom. One of the really fast racing ones. Or they might put a tracker in a letter.” 

She was beautiful, but terrifying in her rage. 

“Shall I stop digging my hole and just leave all this bacon here?”

She took two slices and gave him another look until he put the rest of it in his pouch. 

“Thank you, Hedwig. Future Me will be hungry and thank you for that bacon.”

She started preening his unruly mop of hair with her beak.

Finally Hedwig left his hair alone and twittered. Harry rested his face against her soft feathers and neither moved for quite some time.


	4. The Weasley Twins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Weasley Twins being the Weasley Twins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments!!! I really do appreciate them down here at the bottom of this well 2020 dropped me into.

On his way to go down to the carriages, Harry heard “Little brother” and then he was being yanked behind some trees by the Weasley Twins.

“You came back?” Harry asked, confused.

“We have some products to test and—”

They each put an arm around Harry.

“—we had to give our little brother his early birthday present.”

“We know our early exit left you in—"

"—the lurch tutoringwise.”

“That’s okay. You guys taught me an awful lot,” Harry said.

“Well, we got to thinking—”

“—and inventing.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Harry said.

“ _You have no idea,”_ they said, for once serious.

Harry had been asking for tutoring from the Weasley Twins most of the year, until they had gone out in style with a bang and then some. Keeping the topics frequent and varied enough, so they didn’t bat an eye when he asked THOSE questions relating to his plan. A duplication spell to play tricks on Slytherins, but really so Uncle Vernon would lock the fake trunk in the cupboard, and now that Sirius was dead, so his trunk and things would appear to be on the Hogwarts Express for the duration of the journey.

“Return to me” spells on his most valued items? Again, the Slytherins, but really for when Dudley stole his things. Impervious and indestructible charms for the same reason.

Silencing his footsteps? Playing pranks, but really for sneaking out of his room, provided he could get the blasted door unlocked.

He tried not to ask any that hinted at what he feared, but given his propensity for being in mortal peril at Hogwarts, asking about knocking someone unconscious, if he could put a forcefield around himself, if he could put a notice me not charm or muggle repelling charm on himself weren’t unwarranted.

It was more than he wanted to reveal to anyone ever, but he kept focusing on how wonderful it would be to be anywhere other than the Dursleys.

  
“What’s your plan?’

“Plan?” Harry asked.

“Are you going back there or are you running?”

Harry nodded his head toward the latter.

“Are you running from here or from Kings Cross?”

“Er,” Harry ruffled the back of his hair.

“You haven’t decided yet,”

He knew he could trust the twins, but he still bit his lip, thinking.

“Well, if I take off from here, won’t I be missed on the Hogwarts Express?” Harry finally asked.

The twins looked at each other and said, “Both?” Then they looked back at Harry. “The plan is both.”

Harry said, “I…”

“Hoo Boy! Do we have—”

“—birthday presents for you!”

George pulled out a vial of polyjuice potion and Harry made a face of sheer disgust and said, “Better you than me.”

“How do you know what—”

“—polyjuice tastes like, Little Harrykins?”

Harry didn’t answer, but soon he was yowling because they had yanked out what felt like two handfuls of his hair! 

“Right. Switch clothes with me,” Fred said. “Or rather give me your clothes. We brought some smaller ones for you. I need to be you and you need to be less…you.”

Harry put on the new pair of jeans, shirt, jacket, and shoes, and Fred-polyjuiced-as-Harry changed into Harry's old clothes.

Then both twins rubbed their hands together and smiled. It was really _weird_ to see Fred's smile on his own face.

“Now for the presents! Some—“

“—of these we’ve been working on—“

”—for years!” they both exclaimed.

“The biggest problem is—"

"—removing the trace.”

“You can remove the trace?!” Harry said in shock.

“Of course not—"

"—so we have been figuring out ways _around_ it.”

“You know the Weasley Clock?”

Harry nodded.

“That’s an impressive bit of magic—”

“—that. We took the idea and made you a watch—" 

"—of sorts. Each point warns you of something."

"This warns you when someone apparates near you. This when someone does magic nearby. This one senses deadly intent. etc." 

“Wow!” Harry said.

“Oh just—”

“—you wait.”

"Each point has a different sound—"

"—And it chimes in your head."

"What?!"

"Makes it hard to go sneaking around if your watch keeps chiming."

Then the twins pulled out—

"Post-it Notes? Really?” Harry asked.

“The lovely and terrifying Miss Granger,” the twins said in unison.

“—was quite put out by our fascination with her muggle school supplies.” 

“She gave us a whole—"

"—bagful to leave her alone.”

“I remember that! You had her shouting in the library second year!” Harry said. 

The twins grinned.

“Is that why she was screaming when you left without taking your NEWTS?” Harry asked.

“Among other things."

“We’ve bundled some charms into objects and post-it notes."

"You can't cast a notice-me-not charm because of the trace, but just slap one of these 'notice-me-not charm-its' on and voila!"

Harry teared up. “Thank you guys.”

“Anything for you—"

"—little brother.”

“We mean it.”

“Lay low. And warn us before—"

"—you even think of going anywhere stupid like Diagon Alley.” 

“How? I made Hedwig stay here.”

“Bet she was pissed off.”

"You have no idea," Harry said, rubbing his ear.

"Now listen carefully—"

"—Little Harrykins. This is how." 

“This products notes(book) silly. Write your product notes—"

"—Congratulations you are our first field researcher—"

and any messages to us in it.” 

“It might write back, Harry.”

He grimaced.

“Not like the diary!”

“Though we did like the idea of—"

"— writing back to you. We figured out how—"

"—to make it work…though without old Moldy’s soul bit.”

They went over the rest of their presents, but then paused for a count of three and then said in unison, “Chip chop. You’ve got an escape to get on with, and we’ve got to board the Hogwarts Express and play you.” 

“Don’t actually go with Uncle Vernon. He’s dangerous,” Harry said.

"Don't you worry your—"

"—pretty little head, little brother."

* * *

Harry put on his invisibility cloak. Then he mounted his Firebolt and flew north to get past the Hogwarts grounds and then turned west. The elation of Escaping! lasted him through the first hour. The wind felt living in his hair, the sun was shining.

Harry flew.


	5. ~Skyfall~

Skyfall waited.


	6. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry flies where the bracelet guides him.

It was fleeting, the sense that the bracelet was guiding him. Nothing as overt as a sharp pain or pinch or a sudden heating, but Harry was mindlessly tuned into it the way one might wash the dishes while listening to the game or in Harry’s case, mindlessly weed the flower bed while listening intently for the approaching heavy thuds of Dudley’s trainers. He didn’t have to think about it, he just did it. 

Unfortunately that left him with an unholy amount of time to think. He’d almost prefer sharp pains (to rehashing the Department of Mysteries again. If only Harry had been quick enough to follow Sirius through).

He counted cows.

It was chilly up this high, he didn’t know where he was headed, and there was the stomach-twisting thought of getting caught. Still, the wind was in his hair and he was _flying_ , the feel of which would never get old. He reckoned he’d been aloft for _hours._ He found himself approaching an estate.

Dark was coming, and in Scotland, the rain was never too far behind, and this old place looked…if occupied, then only barely. There was a merry cottage with smoke coming out of its chimney, but none curled above the great house. He circled, past the chapel, out over the loch, then around as far as the road, and up to the gate. One stone pillar proclaiming “Skyfall” still had its bronze stag. Harry gave it a little wave, thinking of his patronus. He followed the drive and flew up over the great hulking house, all weather-beaten stone and small mullioned windows…well, it held nothing on Hogwarts, of course, but for a residence, it was imposing. Foreboding even.

For a _house_ , it was huge. It didn’t appear to be inhabited or at least not very. Maybe it would be like that show Aunt Petunia watched on the telly, with a rich family who only vacationed a week or three at their vacation castle in Scotland. Surely there would be somewhere to hide. And he would be out of the dreich and cold.

He landed on the slate roof at the back of the house and waited. He realized he was holding his breath. Though he had no idea what he was waiting for. No one came, nothing happened. He shrugged and went back to breathing like a normal person. He went to the highest window, the one with roof access. He thought back to Hogwarts and the door you had to stroke and the one you had to ask nicely if you may please enter. And he thought why not. No one could see him here.

He stroked the window pane. It felt cold and bright, the way glass sometimes did.

“May I please come in out of the chill? I’ll be good and I’ll be careful.” Then he added, “Perhaps there’s some sort of work you might need done?”

Again, he found himself waiting.

“I’ll just let myself in then shall I? I’ll be gentle.” He stroked the pane again, a wandless Alohomora, and there was a great grudging creak, as though the window was going to great trouble it was not keen on in order to unlock, which it was not convinced of in the least, thank you very much.

He gave it another stroke. “Thank you.”

And the house, well, the house thought, _what a polite boy, most definitely not a Bond._

Harry shrunk and stowed his broomstick, then scooted inside. “Thank you,” he said, giving the window a little pat. And then locked it behind him. Harry gave the slate a pat too, “I mean no harm, I only need a place in out of the weather. I just need a bit of safety.”

* * *

The house _watched._


	7. Exploring Skyfall

Harry’s first impression, once he’d shut and locked the window behind him, was dead air followed by ancient dust. Geez, maybe the family didn’t even return for a week in the summer. If they never returned, wouldn’t that be brilliant. Daily visits from the caretaker were easily worked around, but avoiding a live-in family would have been tough.

Maybe things were looking up.

He put on his invisibility cloak and crept through the upper story and then down the stairs to the main floor. It was dark inside, gloomy, Harry thought it must be that way even when the sun was at full shine. Plaster walls and dark wainscoting. Wood paneling and oil paintings that looked like they should move. Furniture covered in dustcloths. It reminded him of a scene from a horror film Dudley was once watching that Harry caught a glimpse of before he was booted back into his cupboard. That image had always stayed with him though, the dark interior of a great house, the furniture all draped in white cloths, the air heavy with ghosts.

Harry went back upstairs and looked for the least used room, he would sleep there.


	8. ~Skyfall~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house was standoffish and resisted him in various ways, but it was not downright hostile and perhaps it became even a bit curious.

The house was standoffish and resisted him in various ways, but it was not downright hostile and perhaps it became even a bit curious.

The house stood ready [always ready (to attack)] but the boy did not go for the silver, just a slight grimace at the size of the table and a quiet mutter of “imagine cooking all that food,” nor the gun room, just a quick glance to see what the room was, curious creeping and glances, and always polite acquiescence when the house restricted access. Never a harder second push, just a quiet acceptance that this bedroom door would remain closed to him. The Master Bedroom was most certainly off limits, as was Little Master’s Big Bedroom. (Little Master had never come back long enough for the house to rename it.)

The boy opened the door to Little Master’s First Room, the Nursery. So long unused, so dusty, so forlorn. Such care, the boy lifted the dust cloths, uncovered the cot and the dresser, unboxed the still furry animals, patted the toys and cooed to them. He gathered and arranged and settled.

The house liked that he was polite and was opening and airing Little Master’s First Room. It waited for Little Master’s return. It waited and waited.

The house remembered. The house remembered everything.

This one. This one tasted like _Before_. This one tasted _good_.


	9. The Nursery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry is grieving and not sleeping and cold and hungry. _Do not recommend._ At least he isn't also locked in the Priest Hole.

It was cold, most certainly, but less miserably cold than a night outside.

Harry liked to feel the stone beneath his fingers, maybe it was that it reminded him of Hogwarts. He stood with his face pressed against the stone arch into the kitchen late at night when he knew he would be alone. It was comforting somehow. (Maybe it was enough that it wasn't actively hostile.)

He wasn’t sleeping. At least not much and certainly not well. He was cold and he was hungry. But it was the nightmares. He had always had nightmares, as long as he could remember, but he kept reliving Sirius falling through the veil. But not only Sirius, all the deaths were getting mixed up. He was freezing, but he was also unraveling, but he _knew_ it beat the alternative. He was some sort of lucky. He was…something.

He started gathering blankets because it was cold, but as he layered, he started taking soft things too. He hadn’t had a lot of soft. Only Hedwig, really. He could tell that the house had _opinions_ , he could feel it. Once he found a stash of old jumpers, surely belonging to a boy much bigger than him, but then again, who wasn't? He was giddy for a moment. _Warmth._ But then he shouldn't. Not these. Certainly not all. But as he was closing the box back up, he _felt_ maybe just _one_. It was soft and it was a beautiful blue and he slept in it every night. He never wore it during the day, it would surely get dirty. He was careful with it, and all the borrowed things. 

He was making a soft nest. He felt a little less like he was unraveling when he was curled up inside it. The stuffed animals provided comfort too He missed Hedwig. He missed having her to talk to. He missed putting his face in her feathers. He missed her beak in his hair, grooming him. Even when she was nipping his ear because he'd been _bad,_ he missed that too.

So he put his face in Bear’s tummy. Woke with stuffed animals' paws in his hair.

The Nursery. He had never had this. (At least that he could remember and what are we but our memories?) He had always wanted thils. It didn't hurt anyone. No one was around to see. He had always talked to the spiders in his cupboard and the plants and weeds in the garden. It wasn't hurting anyone. This little space could be his. He was used to friends who couldn't answer. It would be enough.


	10. From House Elf to Brownie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry isn't alone in the house.

It started like this.  
  
Early on, Harry was hiding in the house under his invisibility cloak, observing the old man who looked after the place. It looked like he was doing the annual spring clean. Well, what passed for one.  
  
It started small.  
  
Harry watched and waited for the man to leave, but the man was called away for a delivery. The job was unfinished. Harry told himself the unfinished task would bother the man, but really it would bother Harry. Unfinished chores made him anxious. Unfinished chores meant pain. Harry waited and looked and waited and looked and finally picked up the cloth and finished.  
  
The man came back. The man came back and unloaded the goods on the kitchen counter. Harry heard him run the hot water, the groan of the pipes. Harry tried not to fidget. He focused on staying still, and silent, and small. Hidden. He watched.  
  
The man finally came into the room. He dropped his jaw. He dropped the sponge. It didn’t last long. “Right.” He said and turned.  
  
Harry wondered what he was doing in the kitchen. He thought he heard tea things.  
  
The man returned with a small tray that he set by the hearth. Harry thought it looked like a child’s tea set. He remembered picking up the broken pieces of the sets that Dudley liked to fling against the wall, the floor, Harry’s head. But this was old, cared for. It looked _special._ The man set down the small plate. He placed a small hunk of cheese, a small roll and a little bigger than a shot glass of cream. And was that…Harry sure hoped that was chocolate.  
  
Harry watched and waited. Oh. it was an offering. The man was leaving it for the fae who had helped him. _Brùnaidh._

It started.  
  
Harry was happy. Or happy enough. He wouldn’t know _happy_ happy if it bit him on the arse. He was being helpful. He was sleeping inside where he chose to make his nest. He had his own space and his own things thanks to a judicious use of notice-me-not charm-its and appropriating some abandoned items.

He picked his chores. He delighted in the delight of the man who looked after this place. Maybe _delight_ wasn't the right word, he'd never had much need for naming positive feelings. Sure, it was a bummer these brownies were tiny, so instead of leaving him an actual serving of soup, it was a wee cup. But it was better than nothing. It was certainly better than starving at the Dursleys. No one was beating him. No one was threatening to kill him or worse. Sure, it was perpetually freezing, his callouses had callouses, and he could only get a few hours of sleep a night between fitful freezing sleep (that he could manage around the nightmares) and waking early to not be caught out. But still, he would take it.

Harry supposed it was a little funny, that even hidden away in an undisclosed location with all the trickery the twins had to offer, he was reduced to a magical being in servitude.

Being a brownie was definitely a step up from being a house elf (and beaten). He would have to finagle it to get more food though.  
  
A few days later, the man opened the cabinet door to pull down the small glass for the offering of cream and gave a bark of laughter.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know why you think Kincade is laughing. It will come out in an upcoming chapter. Harry doesn't know his name yet, but yes, that's Kincade.


	11. Harry Counts and Recounts His Blessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry just keeps telling himself things could always be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Harry is going in sleep-deprived circles.

For the very first time, Harry had a proper room of his own. Well, it wasn’t really _his,_ but he claimed it as his. It wasn’t hurting anyone. No one ever came in here, there was no need to. He did his chores, surely that could count for his rent? But even more glorious than his very own room was Harry had never had a proper stuffie before. Sure, he had saved Dudley’s one-eyed one-armed bear from the dustbin, but this was a whole bear with two arms and two eyes and A RIBBON. It was well loved, perhaps even well slobbered, but it was _his_. It had been loved once sure, but had then been abandoned to rot, but now, now it was loved again. (Harry tried very hard not to see any parallels in his own situation.)

He curled up every night in a pile of soft toys and blankets and pillows, with the bear cuddled in his arms. And slept soundly. Well, as peacefully as a 15 year old boy responsible for his godfather’s death, on the run from his abusive family and oh yeah, on the top of the “to murder” list for an insane batshit crazy evil villain could.

That was the major thing, but not the only thing. After he had started cleaning, he could swear there was less of a chill in the house. And the house hadn't tried to _eat_ him. Though something in his _bones_ told him that it very well _could._ Maybe he'd better use his broom to dust the chandeliers while the old man was away. Just to be on the safe side.

Harry gave the wall next to his nest a gentle pat. "Thank you for letting me in, Skyfall. I'm ever so grateful. I'll look after you as best I can." Harry felt a tingle in his hand.


	12. The Great Book of British Dog Breeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry sneaks around the grounds sometimes because he's Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting chapters 11 & 12 today.

When Dudley was 5, Aunt Marge gave him _The Great Book of British Dog Breeds_. It was one of 27 birthday presents that year. Dudley liked books almost as much as he liked Harry, which was to say _not at all._ Straight up loathed, really. It sat collecting dust on his book shelf along with the other misguided presents of birthdays and Christmases past until Dudley was building a ramp for his new motor bike. The book shelf was cleared in one dust-scattering, cough-inducing fell swoop. All the books were chucked onto the pavement—if Harry’d had any tears left by that point, he would have wept—and built into a haphazard ramp. Dudley crashed on his first go, of course, and was rushed into the house sobbing by his mother.

Harry silently scoffed to himself. Dudley was barely even bleeding. He might have a bruise or two, but they certainly wouldn’t last past three days. They most definitely wouldn’t turn that sickly color that Harry’s did the last time he burned dinner. While Aunt Petunia played dutiful mother, Harry was left to clean up the street.

The bike, nicked and scratched as it now was, went up alongside the left wall in its little place with its little sign that said “Dudley’s Garage”. Harry kept the book, hidden beneath the badminton case that Dudley had only played once and with great disgust after he was told he could not light the shuttlecock on fire. Harry was flabbergasted, he didn’t think Aunt Petunia had it in her.

Harry pored over that book, memorizing every detail. One day maybe he would be entrusted with taking care of someone’s dog. (It certainly never occurred to him that one day he would escape far enough to actually have his own dog. Well, there was that one moment…that first day of Magic in Diagon Alley when he saw his vault and he thought, “Ah! Ha! I can escape! I can start over!” but no, he was returned to the Dursleys like clockwork, cruel torturous clockwork.)

After his first proper memorizing of the book, he took to mentally--never aloud, of course--announcing dog breeds whenever he saw a dog.

The dogs in front of him, he squinted, if he didn’t know better, he’d say that was a Sleuthound.

No, couldn't be.


	13. James Bond is on his way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James Bond is en route to Skyfall. Hide your wayward children.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This alludes to the previous work in “Blood! Drench Me in the Blood of Your Enemies! ~or~ Bond’s Gotta Get that Bloodthirstiness from Somewhere” which is the first story in The Sentient Skyfall series. So, if you haven’t already read it or just want to read it again, now is a good time.
> 
> And yes, the poet in me is hellbent on playing with punctuation among other things. Why have a straightforward sentence when it can have layers?

James Bond stood in front of his Aston Martin, and looked out over Loch Etive. His father had always pulled the car over at this spot on their trips back home, back to Skyfall. So, James did too. The little things he could do to remember his parents were few. For his mother, he ordered his breakfast eggs as only a persnickety bastard could, and always fresh squeezed orange juice. And then there were the flowers.  
  
The dressing down he’d received from Mallory no longer stung, but enforced leave always stuck in his craw. Old M would scold him and send him to the naughty seat, thinking he would bounce back and prove to her that he could be a good boy. It rankled, but Bond knew she was right. All he had was the Service. He would inevitably get back in her good graces and then immediately start shifting his toe over the line, always testing. No matter who was M, one day, (far in the future) he would die in this job, of that he was certain.   
  
The nine hour drive had done little to improve his mood. There was nothing for it, Bond did have to return to Skyfall, though rarely. People had always asked about it. The few times James had bothered to answer, he had said, “the estate comes with expectations” and left it vague enough that they thought he balked at the responsibility of laird. But, no. Skyfall had _shown_ him when it had locked him in the Priest hole.

It was hard for Bond to go back (to Skyfall), that grinning boy whose mother had been so proud of him was waiting there and for Bond who could bear anything, it was very nearly unbearable. How he would excel—to see the sunshine of her smile—(he could feel the warmth on his skin) in games and sports and school, in her favorite hobbies and the things he did even now that were her favorite even though it poked his heart, it would have made hers glad, to see her little boy aping her, It always had. Those little things, taking his eggs like hers, having an opinion of the centerpieces that followed hers… 

And lo wouldn’t she be disappointed with who and how he was now. He hadn’t been back to live since…

And he (early on) decided if he couldn’t have the warmth of close affection, he would go for the easy affection which wasn’t really affection (and not closeness so much as proximity). How fitting for his profession.

And make no mistake, he had been a little shite (just ask old Kincade) but he had been a little shite assured of his mother’s devotion and love (an umbrella spread to shelter him, he’d have had time to grow out of it). Warmed by his father’s (more proudness perhaps than affection), he’d have grown into the weight of being his father’s son, laird and husband and man of substance.

Then their deaths. Skyfall had taken that and warped it. (He didn’t remember this (feeling/ being this way before, when he was truly young, before they died.). He didn’t feel that warmth again until Alec. (And he wasn't thinking about what he felt from Q)

He grimaced at the loch and turned back to the Aston. Skyfall called.


End file.
